


Unexpected Angel of Mercy

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Caring, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2557916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Sherlock demonstrates that he's more than most people give him credit for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Angel of Mercy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ravenwolf36](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenwolf36/gifts).



> My muse is feeling unwell. I wish I were there to offer comfort.

When Sherlock was ill he could count on John to tenderly get him through it no matter how despicable Sherlock behaved. It didn’t ever seem to bother John if he got bodily emissions on him, or if Sherlock’s tongue was cutting extra deep. He’d just mop the sweat from Sherlock’s brow, wipe him clean, help him eat if he needed it, and cared for Sherlock until the last trace of illness was gone.

It wasn’t the same when John got ill. John would deny being sick until he could barely move, and he was currently in his room while a huge rasping cough threatened to tear the soldier to pieces. Sherlock couldn’t bear it and late in the evening he crept up to John’s room with a tray of supplies and a bucket of water, “Fuck off Sherlock. Leave me alone.” snapped John. The doctor’s eyes were glazed, and his forehead was shiny with sweat. He smelled sour and rank, bitter and bordering on offensive. Sherlock said not a word and set his heavily laden tray down and perched on the edge of John’s bed.

He set the bucket of nearly hot water by the bed and dipped a soft flannel in it. Still ignoring John’s protests Sherlock gently wiped the sweat from John’s head and neck, cleaning behind his ears, rinsing and wringing the cloth out over and over again as he went over John’s hair, his neck, unbuttoned John’s pajama top and wiped down his chest and arms. Sherlock didn’t stop until he’d tugged John out of bed and made him stand on the area carpet in only his robe while Sherlock washed him from head to toe before changing John’s bedding quickly, helping the doctor into clean crisp pajamas and tucking him back into the now much more comfortable bed.

Sherlock tucked John in and took the bucket away and came back with his Bunsen burner, a flask with some kind of liquid in it and a small folding table. He set it all up quickly and soon John’s room was filled with something aromatic that loosened the tightness in his chest and made breathing less painful. Sherlock was still unspeaking but puttered around removing things from his tray and pushed John flat onto his back, applying a wide folded flannel to his chest. John felt something warm heating and relaxing him, it smelled pungent and strangely soothing. Sherlock dipped the tip of his finger into a small pot and rubbed some smooth white ointment on John’s temples, behind his ears, and dabbed a bit on his throat, all his motions smooth and impersonal but still very thorough. When he was done with that Sherlock took a different pot up and without warning John smeared some unguent around the doctor’s very chapped nostrils, the itching stopped immediately and his nose felt instantly less irritating. The fumes from everything were making John’s nose run a bit and Sherlock handed him a box of tissues that were extra soft and apparently infused with lotion to keep John’s tender nose from hurting more.

Sherlock left again and was gone for several minutes. When he came back he had an over-large mug with a spoon sticking out of it. Unceremoniously he tucked a towel under John’s chin after stuffing two extra pillows behind his back and handing John the mug which turned out to contain a clear chicken broth. While John spooned it in cautiously Sherlock perched at the end of his bed and took John’s feet up one at a time, smoothing more aromatic lotion over the soles and even between John’s toes, taking care not to tickle accidentally, and making sure to get everywhere. When he was done John’s feet almost tingled and Sherlock rolled a pair of sport socks on before covering John’s feet with a second pair of woolly socks.

Sherlock left yet again, bearing away the now empty mug and his tray of ointments. When he came back he had two hot water bottles swaddled in towels. He peeled off the compress from John’s chest, buttoned up John’s pajama top and tucked the hot water bottles in, one near his feet, the other against his lower back. Tucking John in after urging him to blow his nose one last time Sherlock carefully rubbed small circles into John’s scalp until the doctor dozed off, still propped up but breathing easily for the first time in days.

When John woke the flask over the flame had changed and an orange fluid seemed to be simmering gently. There was another cup of something waiting for him, the saucer on top to trap the heat, and a towel wrapped around it to further keep it warm. John looked. It was tea and it was exactly the right temperature to drink immediately and perfectly sweetened with just the right amount of milk. He drank a bit then stopped to blow his nose. He was just picking his cup up again when Sherlock appeared with his tray, this time with food. He said nothing but handed John a hearty bowl of soup with savory dumplings floating in it and a fresh cup of tea, this one fragrant and steaming. John felt refreshed after his light meal but still tired. Unspeaking still Sherlock urged him to lie back after plumping his pillows and wearily John drifted off again, his cough quieted by whatever it was Sherlock had in the flask.

It was full night when John woke next and the compound in the flask had changed again. Whatever this was it was antiseptic smelling, almost bitter, like sour mint but floral at the same time. Whatever it was it felt good to breathe it in, all the aches in John’s chest seemed to be soothed. The hot water bottles had been refreshed as well as relocated and all of John’s aches and pains seemed to be taken care of. Sherlock appeared as if by magic and helped John get out of bed just as the urge to use the lav hit the doctor with urgency. After he was done Sherlock called through the door and told John to have a hot shower. John noticed a stack of freshly laundered towels waiting for him. He smiled.

Sherlock puttered in the kitchen while John washed up, discretely slipping in and stealing away John’s dirty pajamas and leaving a fresh set as well as a newly washed robe to change into, a new pair of bright red pants cheekily resting on top of the stack, and after the shower turned off Sherlock heard John laugh so he smiled and turned the kettle on. Even though it was very early in the morning Sherlock carefully reheated a savory stew that he had made and buttered thick slices of soft bread he’d picked up at Speedy’s earlier that day. John came into the kitchen just as the tea was ready so Sherlock sat him at the table and gave John his meal.

When the doctor was fed and well supplied with tea Sherlock took him back up to his room and repeated his earlier treatment, complete with compress and foot-rub, ointments appropriately applied but this time when he tucked John in Sherlock lay beside him on the duvet. John shook his head and tugged at the blanket. Sherlock rolled off the bed so John could flip the blanket back and obediently Sherlock crawled in properly, pulling John into his arms so the soldier was sleeping at an angle. He found it easy to breathe that way and felt very comfortable.

When John woke the next morning his head and chest felt clear and his room was empty. The portable table was gone as was every sign that Sherlock had cared for John through all the long hours of his illness. John sat up awkwardly and found that his slippers were at the ready and that his robe was somehow warm. With a hopeful heart John shrugged himself into it and went downstairs.

Sherlock was making breakfast and there was a cup of tea waiting for the doctor, Sherlock looked up from where he was stirring something in a pan. John smiled back and went over. He bit his lip nervously for a second but stretched up a bit and brushed his lips against Sherlock’s. Sherlock hummed agreeably and turned his face down to press his mouth a little more firmly to John’s, “I’m almost done.” he said so John nodded and sat down, his heart light and full.

John ate his breakfast in a happy daze, especially when Sherlock collected up all the dirty dishes after but stooped over to kiss John once again, “A bit of egg there love.” he said warmly and John felt warmed right through. Nothing needed to be said, they were what they were, John and Sherlock who always looked out for one another no matter what. John knew he was loved and cherished and with a fresh outlook on life the soldier went over to his best friend to give him another kiss. John wanted to tell Sherlock how he felt about the latest step in their relationship, how he loved Sherlock with his whole heart, and probably always had, how he looked forward to everything that would follow but the words wouldn’t come, but then, they didn’t need to. Sherlock looked at John; his eyes like jewels lined by night and said, “I always knew.” One more kiss saw John ensconced on the sofa, crap telly playing softly in the background as Sherlock snuggled against his back. This was their life now and it was perfect.


End file.
